


A Series of Sterek Shorts

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ficlets, M/M, Random scenes, flashfics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:26:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 16,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes I get images in my head that need to be written (because I cannot draw, lol), but they don't really fit inside a larger story.  </p><p>This is where those images will live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I'm Hugging Him...With My Body."

Stiles was at a red light when it happened. It was an otherwise ordinary day; a Sunday, actually. He was just sitting there, waiting for the light to change, when his passenger-side door opened and someone jumped in. 

His fight or flight instincts honed from years of supernatural shit-storms, Stiles didn't even pause to look to see who it was. He just immediately popped his door open and tried to bail out, only to come up short against his seatbelt.

Yes. It was irony that was going to kill him.

"Stiles!" 

Stiles jerked at the sound of that voice and snapped his head around fast enough to give himself whiplash. " _Derek_?! Oh my god. Oh my god, you're back. I can't believe you're back. I can't believe no one _told me_. How long have you been back? Where's Cora? Oh god, are you in trouble? Is Scott in trouble?" Digging in his pocket for his phone to check for missed calls, he muttered again, "I can't believe those fuckers didn't tell me."

 _"Stiles._ The light's green."

Stiles knew that should mean something, but it really didn't because Derek was back. Derek was back and he was in Stiles' Jeep, and probably something massive and life threatening was chasing him because, c'mon, this was _Derek_. Something was always trying to kill him. 

Usually one of his girlfriends.

Derek snapped his fingers in Stiles' face, making Stiles flinch back, blinking stupidly. "Step on the gas before I rip your throat out. With my teeth."

Stiles stared at Derek for a long moment, face going lax and probably _cartoon hearts_ appearing in his eyes. A knot formed in Stiles' throat even as he put the Jeep in gear and took off, just as the light changed from green to yellow.

"Are you...are you _crying_? Shit, I didn't mean—"

"Shut up, shut up," Stiles said, his voice suspiciously thick, even as a smile wobbled its way onto his lips. "I just, I missed you, you know? And it's like, you came back, and you said the whole throat ripping out thing and I'm... _nostalgia._ " Stiles waved his hand in his own face like some kind of pageant queen, trying to dry his watery eyes. 

Stiles turned onto his street, pulling crookedly into his driveway and killing the engine. Jumping out of the Jeep—and mentally high five-ing himself for remembering to undo his seatbelt—he dashed around to where Derek was already walking up the path to his front door and just...tackled him to the ground.

"Oomph! What the—"

"I missed you, man," Stiles said from his position laid out on top of Derek, his arms wrapped around Derek's shoulders. "Welcome home."

Stiles heard the front door open followed by a heavy sigh and the sound of his dad's footsteps. "Seriously, son? I'm sorry, Derek. I swear we socialized him as a kid."

Derek's chest started rumbling under Stiles, giving him just enough warning to lift his head and watch as a real, honest laugh rolled out of Derek. God, _god_ , the change that came over him with it was...breathtaking. His eyes fucking lit up, his scruffy cheeks dimpled...it was just goddamn unfair how beautiful it made him. Like he wasn't a walking wet dream anyway.

"Shut up, Dad," Stiles muttered, laying back against Derek's ridiculous chest. "I'm hugging him."

"This is a hug?" Derek asked, still chuckling, though Stiles noticed his hands came up to press against Stiles' back. 

"I'm hugging you with my body. It's a thing. Stop judging," Stiles muttered, squeezing tighter.

"Not judging," Derek said.

"I am," Dad snarked. "Did you at least get the groceries before kidnapping Derek?"

"They're in the Jeep. And I didn't kidnap Derek. He kidnapped himself."

Stiles' entire body lifted with the force of Derek's sigh. "I didn't _kidnap_ myself, jesus. I just...got in your car."

"Same thing." Stiles snuggled into Derek's chest and whispered, "Now, shut up and just appreciate the hug, dude."


	2. Hello There, Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashfic! 
> 
> Leela prompted me with "lips" and Angela asked for "cupcake."

Stiles plopped onto the couch beside Derek, setting the box in his hands into Derek's lap before snagging the remote.

"The Pentagon Channel? Really? Is this even a real thing?"

"Shut up; stop judging me. What is this?" Derek's voice contained all the essence of the eye roll Stiles couldn't see, absorbed as he was in finding something to watch.

"Nu-kyu-ler warhead," Stiles said in his best George W. Bush impression. "Heh heh heh."

"Shut up. What is it really?"

"Dick in a box. And you ever notice how you tell me to shut up right before you ask me a question? Not very effective, dude."

"Don't call me dude," Derek said, his voice flat. "It's a cupcake. Why would you..."

Stiles blinked, his thumb going still on a channel showing a McDonald's commercial. "Dude," he breathed, turning fully toward Derek and ignoring his grimace. "Did you really forget your own birthday?"

Derek stared down at the cupcake, fingers tracing the edge of the box. "I didn't...forget," he said quietly. "I just. There hasn't been anyone to remind me since... Thank you."

Feeling his throat start to close up with emotion, Stiles punched Derek's shoulder and grumbled, "I'm not singing for your ass. Just eat your damn cupcake, you old bastard."

Derek's lips twitched, but when he looked at Stiles, there was still a suspicious sheen in his eyes, so Stiles made like he was going to snatch the cupcake for himself.

"Hey!" he shouted, fending off Stiles' grabby hands with an elbow. "Back off." He picked up the cupcake, meticulously peeling the paper wrapper from the base before taking a tentative lick of the frosting. "Chocolate?" he asked, though it was less a question and more a low moan of ecstasy.

"Yeah," Stiles said with a cough, shifting in his seat as blood rushed to his cheeks. "Thought about vanilla, because well... you know what they say about dogs and chocolate."

But Derek didn't even take the time to growl at him for that horrible pun, too wrapped up in _destroying Stiles' fucking sanity._ Instead of eating the cupcake like a normal person, Derek took little, licking nips at the mounds of frosting, making desperately sensual noises each time the chocolate touched his tongue. By the time the cake was clean and shiny on top with spit, Derek's lips were dark with a coat of frosting and Stiles...

Stiles was fucking _done._

"Oh my god," he wheezed, ripping the frosting-free cake from Derek's hand and dropping it in the box before tossing the whole thing on the coffee table for later. Forestalling the angry words he could _feel_ building up in Derek, he twisted on the couch, slid into Derek's lap, and ran his tongue over Derek's bottom lip. "You magnificent bastard." Stiles pushed past Derek's lips with his tongue, meeting Derek's half-way before drawing back again. "If you did that on purpose," he licked at Derek's top lip and sighed. 

Mmmm. Chocolate and Derek. So fucking yummy.

"Congratulations, you broke me." Stiles settled more firmly in Derek's lap, thrusting his fingers into Derek's hair. "If you didn't do it on purpose?" He kissed his way over to Derek's ear to whisper, "A) Why the fuck not? And B) _You're never allowed to eat cupcakes in public again._ "

"Stiles," Derek growled, pulling Stiles' hips harder against his and _grinding_ up. 

"Hmm?" Stiles' mouth latched onto the skin of Derek's throat, sucking.

"Shut up."


	3. Derek's Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is based on a small pet peeve of mine. Nothing that will ever knock me out of a fic *g* just something I've always had lingering at the back of my head when reading stories that mention Derek's wolf being responsible for some aspect of what he wants/does, like it's a separate personality.
> 
> This is more Stiles & Derek than Sterek. Sorry.

They're stuck together again, Stiles and Derek. If Derek didn't know better, he'd think this was Scott's way of paying him back for...something. Something horrible and foul and _irritating_. Not that Stiles is really horrible or foul, but he's... So. Very. Irritating.

It's not even entirely Stiles' fault. Stiles is one of those people. An extrovert. He's never met a person he couldn't tell his entire life story to or a silence he couldn't fill with endless chatter.

And Derek? He's... _not_ an extrovert. He wouldn't really call himself introverted, he just enjoys peace and quiet. Likes to keep his thoughts behind his teeth unless it's necessary to share them.

Which makes Stiles the most annoying person in the world because the quieter Derek is, the more nervous Stiles becomes. And a nervous Stiles has a tendency to not just talk, but talk about wildly inappropriate and/or breathtakingly insensitive subjects. 

Last time they'd been trapped together, Stiles had apologized for two hours about dragging Scott into the woods to look for Laura's _top half_ two years ago. Because, yeah, of all the topics of conversation Derek was willing to participate in, idiot kids tromping through the woods to stare in morbid fascination at the mangled remains of half of his sister's body? Not really one of them.

Tonight's topic? Werewolf mating habits.

Derek knocks his head repeatedly into the window of Stiles' Jeep, mentally damning his ability to heal even the most severe concussion. 

Of course, this is one of Stiles' favorites, so it isn't like Derek's hearing much that's new. Although apparently, Stiles had recently wandered into some new, dark corner of the internet where there were sex stories about some teenaged supernatural television drama. 

Derek thinks fondly of the time when MTV actually stood for MUSIC Television.

"So, is it true? The whole ABO thing?"

Tuning back into the very one-sided conversation, Derek raises his eyebrow. "ABO?" 

Stiles scowls at him, obviously offended that Derek hasn't been hanging on his every word. "Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics! I just spent the last..." 

Derek looks back out the wind shield, tuning Stiles out again. He thinks of Stiles' voice as falling into the Charlie Brown's teacher drone, wah waaah wah wah, and smiles to himself.

Stiles pokes him. "What does that mean?"

"What?" 

"The smile? Is that your, 'Stiles, your brain is a strange and terrible place, please do not drag me into the gutter of your thoughts' smile or is it a 'holy shit, the internet got something right' smile? I don't have enough experience with this expression on your face to catalogue the nuances yet."

Derek shrugs and tells the truth because it will piss Stiles off. "Sorry, it was my, 'I've learned to tune out the sound of Stiles' incessant chatter' smile. I would have chuckled and rubbed my hands together, but I'm trying to avoid turning into Peter."

Stiles' mouth drops open and Derek is sure he's about to get an earful of invective, but instead, Stiles starts laughing. "Oh my god, dude, it took you long enough. Scott learned to tune me out like, two weeks into our broship." Stiles smacks Derek's arm companionably and adds, "And I'm giving you an A+ for the attempt at humor. We'll work on your knock knock jokes next."

Silence descends for a brief, luxurious moment before Stiles starts talking again. For whatever reason, Derek listens this time.

"What about scent? Like, does your wolf get all rowdy when you smell a woman on her period? Do you ever have the urge to stick your face in a lady's crotch?"

Derek slowly turns his head to pin Stiles with a look. "No."

"Well, what about when your wolf—"

"Stiles!"

Stiles' eyebrows shoot up and he looks back at Derek curiously. "Yeah, dude?"

"I'm a born wolf."

Stiles nods slowly, like he doesn't get it.

Sighing, Derek drags a hand down his face and thinks. "Okay, how about this. Stiles, does your inner teenager make you want to have sex? Does your inner teenager like the color purple more than green? Does your inner teenager—"

"Sorry, I should stop you. You said sex, and I like...heard nothing else."

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm trying to make a point here. I'm a born wolf. I literally have no other frame of reference. If you want to know the difference between a true human experience and that of a werewolf, you'll have to ask Scott or Isaac. They've been human. I haven't. My 'inner wolf' has never been a separate entity for me."

"Huh. That's a good point. Never thought of it like that." Stiles scratches at his chin thoughtfully before launching into the tried and true, "So...knotting?"

Derek looks back out the window as Stiles' voice and flailing hands fill the space between them.


	4. Santa!Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this fic idea: http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com/post/69869295611/the-make-derek-work-for-it-fic-idea 
> 
> Derek volunteers at the hospital's children's ward when they are short a Santa Claus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this fic idea: http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com/post/69869295611/the-make-derek-work-for-it-fic-idea 
> 
> *tissue warning*

—-

Stiles stopped in the doorway, his breath rushing from his lungs until his throat was tight with the need to breathe and his heart beat triple time in his chest. He brought a hand up absently, rubbing at the ache just under his breastbone, as he stared at the sight in front of him.

Derek was dressed as Santa, which Stiles had expected (and had his camera app pulled up and ready to use on his phone because _Derek_ was dressed as _Santa_ ), but instead of a fat, jolly old elf, Derek was tall and broad with a thick, luxurious robe of deep red velvet trimmed in purest white fur. He looked more like the version of Santa in the Rise of the Guardians than anything else. And instead of a fake beard, he’d bleached his own facial hair (though not his eyebrows, which appeared to be artificially whitened with a stick of grease paint, maybe). He looked like he should be posing in a Hotties of the North Pole calendar or something, but instead…

…Instead he was kneeling beside the wheelchair of a tiny girl whose head was wrapped in a scarf, his soft mouth spread wide in a smile that was just for the little girl. A whispered conversation took place between the two that Stiles didn’t even bother straining to hear before Derek stood and swept the girl up into his arms, cradling her against the broad planes of his chest.

When Derek sat down on the throne-like chair that had obviously been set up for him, placed the girl delicately in his lap and booped her nose with a white-gloved hand, Stiles staggered forward a step, world completely off kilter. His breath rushed back in so fast, he saw spots dancing before his eyes, forcing him to blink rapidly to get rid of them so he wouldn’t miss a single moment of this absolutely precious sight.

"Tell me," he heard Derek say softly, though in a carrying voice so the other children could hear. "What would you like for Christmas, Sarah?"

The little girl sat, her face set in serious lines, and plucked nervously at Derek’s robe. “Does it have to be a toy?”

Derek blinked, tilted his head, and then said, “No, of course not. This is your wish. It can be anything you want.”

"Santa?" Large brown eyes looked up at Derek, and Stiles had no earthly clue how anyone could possibly deny this little girl anything with eyes like that. "Can you make it so Mommy isn’t sad anymore? She says it’s because she doesn’t like to see me hurting, but it…it hurts more when she’s sad."

Stiles clenched his jaw against the urge to cry because he wouldn’t do that, not in front of these kids who were so fucking brave, every damn day, and watched as Derek swallowed roughly. 

"Sarah, your Mommy loves you more than the whole world. That’s why it makes her sad to see you in pain. Do you see my elf over there?" Derek pointed at Stiles, who blinked in confusion.

Sarah looked at Stiles, her little face scrunching up in skepticism. “He’s too tall to be an elf, isn’t he?”

Stiles put his hands on his hips and pouted. “Hey! An elf is an elf, no matter how tall.” He strode across the squeaky floor in his jingly, curled up shoes, and knelt next to Derek’s chair. “Though it does make using elf-sized hammers kinda difficult.”

Sarah looked at his hands and nodded, her little face utterly serious.

The sound of Derek clearing his throat brought their attention back to him. “Stiles hit his thumb with a hammer once,” Derek whispered, like it was a secret. “And because he’s my very good friend, seeing him in pain made me cry.”

Wide eyed, Sarah stared up at Derek. “Don’t cry, Santa. He’s all better.”

"Well, yes, now he is. But when he was hurting, it made me hurt, deep in my heart, because he’s my friend and I don’t want him to feel any pain." Derek’s smile was soft and fond and just for Sarah then. "That’s why your Mommy is sad."

Sarah nodded slowly and then tilted her head. “So then…can I change my wish?”

"Of course."

"Will you make it stop hurting? Because if I’m not hurting, Mommy can smile again."

_Jesus Christ_ , Stiles thought, nearly falling over as pain lanced through his chest. What kind of a shitty universe let kids like Sarah suffer the cruelties of cancer?

"Close your eyes," Derek whispered, face pressed close to Sarah’s. 

Stiles glanced around wildly as he realized what Derek was about to do, looking to see if any nurses or parents were watching. But there was only one nurse, who was crouched beside a small boy in a leg cast, talking softly to him.

Derek slipped the glove from his hand and placed his open palm on Sarah’s bare shoulder. Dark lines immediately began snaking up Derek’s arm, and Sarah’s whole, tiny body went loose and relaxed as the pain drained from her.

"Thank you, Santa," she whispered, kissing Derek’s cheek. 

Stiles turned away, hiding his face as he wiped tears from his eyes. He’d look back on this moment later and know it was the very instant he fell in love with Derek Hale. But for now, he just resumed his spot at Derek’s side, handing out brightly wrapped gifts after each of the children trapped in the hospital over Christmas had their turn on Santa’s lap.

—


	5. You KNOW This Happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know how many mattresses Derek ruins in fanfic??
> 
> So. Many.
> 
> OC POV

Cheryl looks up when the electronic bell signals a customer, a professional smile curving her lips. When she sees who it is, her eyes flare wide before she picks up the inter-office phone and buzzes the manager.

"Mike," she hisses, while maintaining her smile in case the couple looks up. "They’re back."

Dropping the receiver into the cradle without waiting for a reply, she glides out from behind the counter and approaches the couple like an old friend.

She practically is.

"Mr. Stilinski, how nice to see you again! Mr Hale, it’s been too long."

"It’s been three days," the gruff, good looking young man points out, pinning her with a flat stare while his partner just cackles with good humor.

"Ignore him, Cheryl. It’s his own fault, anyway." The Stilinski boy—he can’t be more than twenty—wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her off to the Sealy section. "I was thinking maybe one of those Posturepedics this time, what do you think?"

Cheryl side-eyes Stiles before darting a look over her shoulder at where Derek is glaring at a stuffed sheep with a number on the side. “I think I’m almost curious enough to ask how you go through two mattresses a week.”

Stiles leans in close, like he’s going to impart a secret. “Really?”

Considering it—it’s wildly unprofessional, but these two are basically putting Cheryl’s youngest through college—Cheryl cocks her head closer, licks her lips and breathes, “Tell me. Unless it involves dead bodies. I need plausible deniability.”

Stiles takes a minute to laugh before looking her straight in the eye and saying, “Derek’s a werewolf.”

Cheryl, who had been gearing up for some wickedly depraved tale of kinky sex, deflates with an inelegant snort. “Oh, fine, then. Don’t tell me.”

Tossing back his head with a deep belly-laugh, Stiles nudges her. “No, no, I’m sorry. It’s just too fun to watch all of you speculate. I can’t ruin it now.”

"All of us?" Cheryl asks idly, jotting down the number of the Sealy Posturepedic in queen size that’s on the display floor.

"Yeah, Harry at the furniture store and Janice at Bed Bath and Beyond have bets going about the number of sofas, sheets, and pillows we go though on a monthly basis. I figured you were in on it."

Cheryl turns away, cheeks flushing with guilt as she leads him to the register. “What? How awful of them,” she murmurs.

"Nah. I’d be curious too."

Derek stalks over, glaring at Stiles as he slaps a black Am-Ex on the counter.

"Aww, baby, don’t be like that," Stiles croons, twining his arms around Derek’s neck as Cheryl rings up the purchase and swipes the card.

"It’s your fault," Derek mutters, signing the invoice.

"Uhh, I’m pretty sure it’s not, actually."

"If you hadn’t…"

Even as avidly as she’s listening, Cheryl can’t make out what Derek whispers into Stiles’ ear that makes him flush red and gurgle quietly.

"Hnnngh. Okay, yeah. Maybe ‘s my fault."

Cheryl ducks her head to hide a grin when Derek growls, “Brat.” 

Oh well. Maybe she needs to stop being such a busy body and just be happy for the two young men who’ve obviously got a happy, healthy, adventurous sex life.

Naaah, she thinks, as they walk out the door with a promise of same-day delivery. Janice will surely know something…


	6. It Wears His Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 317!!!

From the first instant Derek sees Stiles, he knows. He doesn’t know how everyone else doesn’t see it, but he definitely does.

The thing wearing Stiles, the nogitsune, has almost everything right. The twitchy fingers, the open, laughing mouth, the slightly off balance walk. It’s almost pitch perfect.

Where it all goes wrong is the eyes. Stiles’ eyes are the color of well aged whisky, lit from within by the very force of Stiles himself. The spark that is pure Stiles is missing from these eyes. They’re brown, but it’s the brown of overturned graveyard soil, dull and dead.

And when the nogitsune looks back at Derek, it _knows_. It stops walking, lets Scott get several feet away, puts itself in a circle of protective space. And then it smiles. If Derek hadn’t been certain before, he is now.

_This is not Stiles._

This smile? This is pure evil. It chills Derek and makes his flesh want to crawl off his bones. It’s the smile of a thousand year old soul that has seen civilizations rise and fall. It’s seen death and famine. It’s seen want.

Derek thinks maybe it caused those civilizations to fall. It killed and starved and spread plagues for the joy of watching the suffering that would follow.

"What do you want?" Derek asks, and the awkwardness of his words lets him know he’s unconsciously done a full beta shift. His question alerts the others, who snap to attention and then go perfectly still as they see what Derek has.

"I have what I want, wolf." It runs a hand down Stiles’ chest, spreading his lips in a mockery of a smile. "I have a soul that—" Stiles’ head jerks hard to the right, and when it lifts again, Derek sees _Stiles_ staring back at him. 

His eyes are wide, panic-filled, and wet with tears. “Derek?” he asks, his voice hoarse, as if the effort of holding back the nogitsune is taking every ounce of his strength.

It probably is.

"Stiles, I—" Derek cuts himself off as the nogitsune resurfaces, blanking Stiles’ features, turning them hard and angry.

"Let. Him. Go." Derek’s voice breaks in a howl of rage, but the nogitsune just smiles coldly at him.

"Why should I?"

In a flash, Derek’s claw-tipped fingers are wrapping around its throat, dragging it forward so he can whisper in its ear, “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

A rumble of humor vibrates against his hand before the nogitsune whispers with   
Stiles’ most teasing voice, “ _I don’t think so, Sourwolf._ What are you going to do? _Rip my throat out with your teeth?_ You can’t. If you do, he dies.”

Derek drops the nogitsune and stumbles backward, seeing the others spread out, helpless, around him. 

"Could you do that, wolf? Could you kill this boy who has saved your life? Saved the life of your kin? Comforted you and held the darkness at bay? The boy who fearlessly stands up to monsters and demons with no armor but his words?"

The nogitsune lazily approaches Derek, twisting Stiles’ mouth into a mockery of a smile. “I know everything he’s done, wolf. I remember it all.” It lifts a hand, dragging one of Stiles’ fingers down the side of Derek’s face. “I remember how he touched himself at night, sweat pouring down his body as he whispered your name. I remember how he shook, numb and aching, when he was told you left.”

“ _Not even good enough for a goodbye_ ,” and this time it’s Stiles’ voice, filled with betrayal.

"I remember how he welcomed the darkness," the nogitsune whispers. "How he wanted to just close his eyes and stop fighting."

The full-body jerk this time is almost a spasm. It reminds Derek of that last fit of Erica’s before he bit her. It sends the nogitsune to the ground, and when it stops, Stiles' fingers are curling into the floor tiles, as if he’s trying to hold on to something solid.

_Stiles_ looks up at him, and Derek drops to his knees beside him. He gathers Stiles in close, pulls him onto his lap, and just says, “Hang on, Stiles. Hold on for us.”

"Kill it," Stiles pleads, his voice little more than a breath of sound. 

Derek just pulls him in tighter in response and looks around him, sees from the look on everyone’s faces that the nogitsune has won. It won the instant it chose Stiles. They can’t do it, they can’t kill it, no matter how many it threatens.

Because Stiles is the heart of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saw a thing on breenwolf's tumblr that inspired this.


	7. Mouth to Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my sweet Tumblr Anon, who left me the kindest messages yesterday.

Stiles tugged on the loft door so hard it screamed on its tracks and the sound it made as it fully opened could only be described as a slam.  Storming into the loft, he looked around, wild-eyed and breathing heavily, and spotted his prey.  "You!" he shouted, pointing.

Derek, who'd looked up, eyebrows quirking in surprise, from the first touch of Stiles' hands to his door, let the wooden spoon he was using to stir the orange powder into his noodles fall back into the pan and turned off the burner.  "Me?"

"You are..." Stiles' extended finger curled back into his palm as his voice trailed off into a garbled screeching sound.  "You!"  His arms flailed and his cheeks went splotchy as his eyes widened dramatically.

"You're gonna have to be more articulate, Stiles," Derek drawled, leaning back against the stove and refusing to flinch as the hot metal of his pan burned a line against his skin.  He'd heal it and there was no way he was going to show weakness in front of Stiles right now.

"My _Jeep_!" Stiles shouted, then stomped across the open loft to stand so close to Derek that Derek could see the way his nostrils were flaring.

Probably smelled the mac n cheese.

Concern filled Derek as Stiles' words finally made sense.  "Your Jeep?  What's wrong with it?  I told Tony to--"

"You fixed it!  You fixed my Jeep."  Stiles lifted his hands to Derek's shirt and grabbed big handfuls of it in his fists, tugging.  "You fixed my Jeep, Derek."

"Well," flustered and trying not to show it, Derek looked down at Stiles' hands and shrugged, "it needed to be fixed.  You ran into a tree, Stiles.  AGAIN.  You ran into a tree _again_.  You were in the hospital and I knew your dad wasn't going to want to deal with that, but you were going to need it and--"

"Shut up."  Stiles' forearms flexed as he tugged hard enough on Derek's shirt to actually shift him forward.  "You fixed my Jeep.  I'm going to put my mouth on your mouth now.  Fair warning."

"You...mppph!" Derek's eyes widened and his whole body stiffened before going completely slack as a moan bubbled up in his throat.

Stiles hadn't been lying.  He really did put his mouth on Derek's mouth. 

But what he hadn't warned Derek about--and what his awkward phrasing had left no impression toward--was his apparent skill with mouth on mouth touching. 

God, Derek was doing it now.

The _kiss_ was like nothing Derek had ever experienced.  It wasn't a kiss with a neon road-sign leading it toward anything else.  It was a kiss just to kiss.  It was its own experience.

It was soft lips and suction and the swipe of tongues.  It was teeth and heat and pressure.  It was Stiles licking into his mouth with a little, quiet noise of pleasure and Derek meeting him halfway with a growl of his own. 

It went on and on until the loud clatter of a pot hitting the tile floor broke them apart.  Stiles peered over his arm and said, voice shaky, "Mac n cheese?"

"Yeah," Derek breathed, eyes locked on Stiles' plump, reddened lips and wondering why they weren't back on his own already.

"I think you're gonna need to make more."

"Yeah.  Okay," Derek said, wrapping his hand around the back of Stiles' neck and tugging.  "Later.  I'll make more later.  After I put my mouth on your mouth again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you do the tumblr thing and want to find me (I'm no good at tumbling, fair warning!) I'm here: [Eeyore9990](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com).


	8. Truthbombs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so. This happened.

It was like a thousand other arguments.  It started during a tense life or death situation and ended with the rest of the pack slumped against any piece of furniture they could find, their dull eyes tracking the same, tired movements of Stiles and Derek hissing at each other like house cats.

"What the hell do you want from me, Derek?!" Stiles shouted, arms flashing out to the sides as if to showcase all hundred and fifty pounds of his denim and flannel-covered body.  

Derek made an impatient noise, moving to roll up the maps of the Preserve that they’d been arguing over.  “Nothing, Stiles.  Just forget it.  You’re just a fucking _teenager_ ; I don’t know why you’re here to begin with.”

The pack stirred, raising weary heads at the words that usually sent Stiles into such a frothing snit that he slammed from the room.  Only this time, something was different, because instead of screeching in wordless rage, Stiles dropped his arms and quietly said, “Yeah.  I am.”

"I am a teenager.  So is Scott.  So are Allison, and Isaac, and Lydia, and Danny.  So were Boyd and Erica and Cora…wherever the fuck she is.  So’s Jackson.  Hell, Derek.  So’re _you_.”

"Oh, please.  I’m twenty-f—"

"Really?  Really, Derek?  Cuz I don’t think so.  I think your girlfriend died when you were fifteen and your family died when you were sixteen.  I think maybe it took about six years for you to start living again, just in time to come home to find your sister dead.  I don’t know when you turned it all off.  I don’t know if it was the night you got your blue eyes or if it was the night your lover played with matches.  But I do know one thing.  You think you’re big and strong, but you’re just a scared teenager, fighting for his life like the rest of us."

Stiles stepped closer, his eyes flicking with something like pity over Derek’s bone-white face and horror-filled eyes.  “You can lie to anyone else.  Hell, you can lie to yourself.  But you aren’t fooling anyone.  Least of all me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, Stiles. Harsh.


	9. Nipples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to go with [this gifset](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com/post/80027121234/eeyore9990-holy-shit-is-this-real-or-a).

Derek knows he shouldn’t tease. But all summer he watched Stiles come over to help look for Erica and Boyd wearing too many layers for the warm California summer. It wasn’t until Stiles had to take off his short-sleeved, plaid button-down that he figured it out. 

Stiles was self-conscious of his nipples. Derek could understand that. As a teen, any difference marked you as other and undesirable. 

But they were so fucking sexy. 

(Not that _Derek_ looked at _Stiles_ like that. It was just nipples in general that revved Derek’s engines, so to speak.)

But once Derek noticed them, he couldn’t stop. The way they puckered under the slightest change in temperature. How they ruined the line of soft cotton where it stretched across Stiles’ broadening, newly muscular chest. 

And the first time he felt one against the palm of his hand, tightening into a hard little nub as he yanked Stiles out of the path of a rampaging Erumpent, was a revelation. He could still feel it, if he concentrated.

So when Stiles tried to leave that night (tried to just get up and go while Derek held the torch in his hand, while Derek geared himself up for touching that flame to living flesh and reliving his worst nightmares again in the form of scent memory) Derek couldn’t stop himself from slapping one hand to Stiles’ chest, grabbing one of those deliciously pouty nipples and twisting. Just to hear Stiles squawk and feel that nipple harden beneath his touch once more.

(If he used that same hand to pinch and pull on his own nipples later, hey…no laws were being broken. Right?)


	10. Foiling the FBI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sweet anon came and said Hi to me on Tumblr today. I felt moved to give them a first Sterek kiss.

Stiles enters the loft and skirts around Scott and Isaac to get to Derek. He walks straight up to Derek and wraps one hand around his neck, ignoring the flash of surprise in Derek’s eyes as he pulls him into a kiss.

It’s just supposed to be a way to shut everyone up, make everyone pay attention. But it’s also a little bit selfish because, yeah, he’s thought about it. A lot.

But he wasn’t counting on Derek going soft and pliant, his mouth opening to Stiles, his hands grabbing onto Stiles’ waist and pulling him closer. He wasn’t counting on his own little lost whimper or Derek’s breathless gasp.

It’s all he can do to murmur against Derek’s lips, “FBI is in a van outside listening to everything,” before losing himself in the kiss once more.

His fingers thread through the thick hair at the back of Derek’s head as he hears Isaac bitching about always LARPing werewolves—Stiles spares a braincell to be impressed with that bit of quick thinking from Isaac. Scott’s growl is drowned out by Lydia stamping her foot and insisting banshees could too exist in the universe they’d created for the game and she was tired of being the helpless female victim.

He tunes them out when Allison joins in, and he’s honestly surprised Derek isn’t pushing him away already. Instead, he’s guiding them slowly backward until Stiles is pressed against the column in the center of the room and hitching one of Stiles’ legs up over the curve of his hip and _grinding_ forward.

"Ugh," he vaguely hears Scott mutter. 

Stiles just holds up one hand with his middle finger extended.

One of the girls wolf-whistles, which honestly startles a laugh out of Stiles and makes Derek pull back with a petulant frown. 

"Why are you all still in my apartment?"

"Oh don’t mind us," Lydia says, sounding like the cat who caught the canary but is still watching it try to escape. "We’re just enjoying the show."

"Fuck," Stiles breathes, lower than a whisper. "You’re not the only one."

Derek buries his face in Stiles’ neck, sucking gentle kisses into the sensitive skin there as the others make plans within the context of a game. 

And the FBI, specifically Agent McCall, are foiled once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Me, on the tumblr thing.](eeyore9990.tumblr.com)


	11. Backstory for Derek's fascination with Stiles' nipples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of anons tempted me with talk of Stiles' nipples. Apparently, I am highly suggestible. 
> 
> This is sort of not!fic

You want to know about ~~my~~ _Derek’s_ obsession with Stiles’ nipples. Okay, yes, but first you need to know a few other things.

Being paralyzed by Kanima venom doesn’t mean you can’t _feel_ anything. It means you can’t move. That’s it. 

So while Stiles treaded water for hours, holding Derek tight to his chest, the cold water turned those ridiculous little nubs to rock hard points of pressure. They rubbed against Derek’s back, bit into his tattoo, scraped along his shoulder blades for _hours_. Thank small mercies for cold water and tight jeans, or Derek would surely have been arrested for indecency around minors as soon as they stepped foot outside.

Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, Matt Daehler, that little shit, let Stiles rub all up against him in the Sheriff’s station. The. Sheriff’s. Station. Let _that_ sink in. 

(Get it? _Sink_ in? Derek’s got the puns.)

So claws in the thigh? Less about unparalyzing himself and more about quelling any boner that might want to pop up unexpectedly.

(Pop up. Two for two!)

So yeah, loooong before Stiles nipples were legal (and, you know, the _rest_ of Stiles as well), Derek had a minor obsession with them. That nipple pinch during the whole tattoo fiasco? He just couldn’t help himself, okay?

The entire time he was with Jennifer/Julia, he kept playing with her nipples, hoping to find the same fascination. Spoiler: he did _not_. But yeah, thank small mercies again because being with her made _the looks_ stop.

For a while.

Oh, the looks? Yeah, see, Erica got it in her head that he was attracted to Stiles sometime around the pool incident. She claimed to have been able to smell him over the chlorine (liar), and she proceeded to loudly tease him about Stiles in front of the other betas.

You know. Like Isaac.

And then Isaac went to live with Scott and told _him_ , so there was about a week where Derek got some really heavy looks before the whole Darach/Nemeton debacle came to a head.

Apparently someone (probably Stiles) got the idea that Jennifer/Julia had somehow bespelled Derek and taken advantage of his body.

He let them believe that because a) no more looks—or at least, no more suspicious looks (pity was better for his continued freedom than suspicion) and b) he really didn’t need _everyone_ to know how bad his taste in women was. It was bad enough Stiles knew. 

And, of course, because everything always circles back around to them, whenever Stiles got angry enough to yell about Derek’s taste in women, his nipples got wound up too. They pointed at him accusingly and made his mouth go fucking dry.

Bonus: when he inevitably dropped his eyes to them, Stiles would assume he was ashamed (lowered gaze, flushed cheeks) and then stumble over an apology and lean forward to pat Derek’s shoulder. Sometimes it was a one-armed hug, and a nipple would graze his bicep. 

When he realized his self control was slipping, Derek packed up Cora and fled to South America. Spoiler: he was able to stay away less than a month. He has really shitty self control.

Thankfully, Stiles was possessed and he didn’t really get a chance to see him at first, because holy mother of fuck, the nogitsune apparently did not enjoy multiple layers like Stiles did. 

(Seriously, how did Scott not figure it out sooner? Those nipples are really fucking obvious!)

So Derek spent a week with a very confused boner after not!Stiles threw him into a wall. Yeah. Let that sink in.

And then Kate came back as Mystique or whatever and Stiles had something going on with Malia (spoiler: Derek’s _cousin_ because this was his life) but eventually Stiles turned 18, and Derek had no problem encroaching on his cousin’s territory.

So yeah. He finally got to really do all the things he wanted to those nipples. And while he does enjoy the sight of them red and aching from clamps, what he really likes is the after.

Where he rubs them, soothes them with his tongue, plumps them up with his fingers and runs his teeth across them. He spends hours like that, one hand idly working over Stiles’ cock so he won’t bitch, the other squeezing the muscle under Stiles’ nipple until it’s pushing up against Derek’s tongue.

We don’t talk about the time the witch made Stiles’ nipples leak milk. That was stricken from pack memory.

Stiles likes to accuse Derek of only loving him for his nipples. Derek just smiles and ducks his head, nipping at one while he says, “Not _only_.”


	12. Come Undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked for:
>
>> Someone asked for a kink? Well, I have a huge thing for licking/sucking/biting/sniffing. If you pair it with premature ejaculation, you will make a very happy anon.

Derek’s favorite thing about Stiles—well, inside the bedroom, at least—is that he goes from zero to desperate like a switch has been flipped. One look from Derek has his eyes dilating, the light golden color deepening to something filled with a dark promise of the night to come. 

Or the morning. Or early afternoon. Just, whenever either of them feels the breeze blow just right, actually.

It’s wonderful, though, this power that Stiles hands over so willingly. Derek remembers being the one on that side of things, remembers the hint of mockery in Kate’s eyes, and vows for the _n_ th time not to misuse this power in such a disgusting way.

"Show me," he whispers now, and listens for the hitch in Stiles’ breathing. It’s not a sob, not yet. But it’s close. Close enough to taste the salt in the air from tears that haven’t yet formed.

Stiles surges forward and falls to his knees, mouth opened—

 _When isn’t it?_ Derek thinks fondly.

—and wraps his lips around two of Derek’s fingers, licking and slurping at them with a little, bitten-off whines. He’s still fully-dressed. They both are. But the front of his trousers is stretched tight with the full weight of his cock pressing against the material, a damp spot forming as Derek watches.

Stiles says something, but it’s muffled by the fingers in his mouth. With a small, private curve of his lips, Derek crooks them just the slightest, until they’re stroking over Stiles’ tongue, drawing forth a moan and a stuttering motion of those hips.

It’s going to be fast tonight, but no more so than usual. 

Derek bends his wrist until his palm is almost touching Stiles’ chin. The angle puts an achy sort of pressure on his wrist, but he ignores that for now, reaching with his thumb to stroke over the fine stubble that dots Stiles’ cheek.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, and feels the scrape of teeth over his fingers. His own hips jerk at that, and Stiles’ eyes darken further, narrowing to slits as his lips curve into a smirk that is only broken by the puckering of his lips around Derek’s fingers.

He slides his fingers free, and watches as Stiles blinks back a sheen of tears. “Shhh, I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, lowering himself to his knees in front of Stiles and pressing against his chest until Stiles falls over backward, landing awkwardly against the carpet as Derek pushes his t-shirt up.

Bending his head, Derek drags the tip of his tongue along the skin right at the waistband of Stiles’ trousers, his chin nudging the buckle of Stiles’ belt until it’s bumping against the head of Stiles’ cock in turn. 

"Oh, fff—"

Derek cuts off Stiles’ curse by shoving his fingers back into the sinful heat of that mouth. His tongue he swirls into the hair that arrows up toward Stiles’ belly button. That gets a dip of tongue and a nip around the edge before Derek continues upward. 

He has to stop for a moment, panting warm, moist breath over Stiles’ ribcage as Stiles begins to suck at his fingers in earnest, his tongue thrusting between them and then wrapping around them and… _Fff—_ , indeed.

"Stiles, _Stiles_ ," Derek murmurs, nosing into the wildly curling copse of hair in the middle of Stiles’ chest. He bites at it, tugging on it with his teeth, and ignoring the strand or two of hair that action leaves in his mouth. He’s had worse on his tongue.

He rolls his forehead against Stiles’ sternum, and looks at the nipple that fills his vision. It’s… god, it’s fucking _his_. It’s Derek’s, this nipple. And its twin. If he dared, he’d put a tattoo on them both, declaring himself their owner. Instead, he bites and sucks and licks at them, until Stiles is a writhing mess beneath him, the scent of Stiles’ desperation, of his _tears_ , heavy in the air.

Stiles is nearly _chewing_ on his fingers now, but it’s only fair. After all, Derek has destroyed the nipple under his mouth. It’s an angry red, bitten raw, swollen and bruised and _perfect._

Derek digs the fingers of his other hand into the sensitive places under Stiles’ armpit as he drags his lips across Stiles’ chest to the other nipple, the one that’s been so neglected while he tortured its counterpart.

Some combination of sensations—Derek’s fingers in his mouth, Derek’s mouth on his nipple, his fingers in Stiles’ armpit—do the trick, and Stiles’ hips rock upward as he lets out a sharp, confused, _distressed_ sound, and comes messily inside his pants.

The heady scent of it makes Derek growl, but it’s not a warning. No, never that. This growl is a sound of deep, earth-shaking approval.

His. His _Stiles_. This writhing mess of humanity under him is _his_. Only Derek can pull these reactions from Stiles. Only Derek.

Knowing how sensitive and overstimulated Stiles is, Derek just laps tenderly at the neglected nipple, allowing him a moment to recover before he builds the tension all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm on tumblr.](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com)


	13. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [handcuffedhale](http://tmblr.co/mx0OBxYM1-HWQzxHYzQHfwQ), on the occassion of Tumblr eating a fic. 

"No," Derek hears Stiles breathe, then, "No. No! **NO!** ”

He sounds so distraught that Derek is rolling to his feet before the thought coalesces in his mind.

"What the fuck? Why even…? Why?" Stiles whimpers, sounding on the verge of tears.

"Stiles?" Derek asks, approaching with caution. 

Stiles has been holed up in the loft every spare moment for three days, painstakingly translating the bestiary to English so that in the event something happens to him, Lydia, or Peter, someone will be able to find information easily. 

He looks up at Derek now, his eyes bloodshot and face a deathly, sickly pale shade. “It,” he says, his voice cracking before he swallows. “It’s gone.”

A bolt of disbelief and fear zings through Derek. If the computerized files on the bestiary had been corrupted…

"Everything I’ve done for the past…four hours," Stiles continues, looking at his watch, "is just gone. Poof."

"What happened?" Derek asks softly as his heartrate levels out in his chest. Yes, it’s bad news, but it isn’t irreparable.

"Windows updates," Stiles hisses, fury bringing splotches of color to his cheeks. "Windows fucking updates."

"Okay," Derek says, grabbing his keys and bodily tossing Stiles over his shoulder. "Break time."

"What?!" Stiles squawks, drumming his fists on Derek’s ass. "But I can’t—"

"If you put your fist through the computer screen, it’ll set you back way further than four hours. Milkshake time."

Stiles stops wriggling, and Derek can’t hold back a small smile when Stiles huffs and says, “Fine. But you’re springing for extra whipped cream on mine.”

"Darn your tough bargaining tactics," Derek mutters dryly.

"You can let me down now."

Derek thinks about it, thinks about Stiles’ 18th birthday next week, and slides his hand up to pat lingeringly over Stiles ass. “Nah, I’m good,” he says, and smiles harder at the choked-off noises Stiles makes all the way down to the car.


	14. Derek's Bottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dear Anon asked if I thought Derek was a bossy bottom or a lazy bottom. This stands as my answer.

This is a complex question with a long answer.

The first time Derek bottoms, he does it only because it’s Stiles. Stiles asks and Derek, well. Derek would do a lot more than bottom for Stiles; he’d die for him, so this seems a small sacrifice to make. If it’ll make Stiles happy, if it’ll answer any questions in Stiles’ head, Derek will do it.

He expects to grit his teeth and bear it because, let’s be honest, Derek’s life motto was written by the Dread Pirate Roberts (for you heathens who missed this, it’s “Life IS pain, highness”). And at first, that’s exactly how it goes. For all Stiles’ gentleness, he’s still a bit of a fumbling mess around anyone else’s ass that’s not his own. Hell, he’s not all that great with his own. (That’s what he has Derek for.)

But then, somewhere between the uncomfortable, burning stretch and the zing of Stiles managing to hit his prostate, Derek relaxes into it and it… well, it’s better than getting impaled with an iron bar, okay? 

And then Stiles DOES hit his prostate and after that it’s all gritted teeth and clenched muscles because it’s too much. It’s overwhelming and all he can do is let out a tiny whining noise as everything goes splotchy and white and he comes like a freight train.

But Derek is afraid to ask for things he wants. “Regression to the mean” for him, is life just going back to shitty. So he bites his lip and tops for a month or so (and honestly, it’s not like he has an issue with that, okay? Stiles' _ass_...) until Stiles gets antsy and fidgety and whispers one night that he wants to try again. And he looks a little devastated when he follows that up with, “I know it wasn’t any good for you last time, but I think I can make it better.”

And Derek just barks out a disbelieving laugh, because he’s been reliving that night non-stop for _months_ okay? Better? Better would probably kill him. 

But Stiles is looking down, avoiding his gaze, and nodding, and backing off all, “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I understand. No big deal.”

Stiles doesn’t _understand_. So Derek does the only thing he can do when Stiles retreats inside his compound of insecurity. He gently slams Stiles into a wall, gets up in his face, and tells him, very explicitly, exactly how life-altering having Stiles’ dick in his ass was last time. And then he grits his teeth, silently apologizes to whoever is going to die for him having an enjoyable moment, and begs… _begs_ Stiles to please fuck him again.

They still switch out, because _Stiles’ ass_ , but it’s more an even thing, and on the nights Stiles can hold out long enough (or get hard again while Derek’s still inside him, which is more often), they take turns until they’re limp noodles of satiation. 

Derek isn’t terribly loud, but when half a year goes by with nothing apocalyptic happening, he starts getting a little more vocal. By their fifth anniversary, when Stiles is a veteran deputy and Derek a shockingly (“yeah, right, _shocking_ ,” Stiles scoffs affectionately) popular substitute teacher for the town schools, Derek has no issue giving Stiles very clear directions.

He’s not bossy. He’s just learned to communicate.

(“Sure, that’s it,” Stiles says, patting his hand and kissing the affronted look off his face.)


	15. Blindfolded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for: Derek discovers that when he puts a blindfold on Stiles it makes him really quiet and submissive? But Derek likes him loud right, so he makes it a challenge to get Stiles to moan.

Derek adjusts the soft cloth mask over Stiles’ face and holds up three fingers. “How many?” he asks, but is caught off-guard when Stiles doesn’t answer.

Instead, Stiles’ entire body goes almost limp, still, and Derek can hear the tiny, minute hitches in his breathing.

"Stiles?" He can’t help the hint of panic that colors his tone. It had been his idea to turn things up a notch in the bedroom with the inclusion of toys and restraints. The blindfold had been intended to be their first test of a more sexually adventurous bedroom. 

Derek reaches to take the blindfold off, only to stop at the soft hint of wonder in Stiles’ voice when he calls Derek’s name. No, not _calls_ ; Stiles’ voice is a hushed breath of sound, almost reverent and awed. 

"Color?" Derek asks, his own voice low in response to the quiet, peaceful stillness of Stiles.

"Green," Stiles murmurs. "So green. Derek, it’s… I can feel you. I can… it’s so much. It. It overwhelmed me for a minute." A shaky laugh spills from his lips, and Derek takes that opportunity to lightly run the pad of his finger around one of Stiles’ nipples.

Stiles doesn’t scream or shout or respond in any of the ways Derek has come to expect. Instead, Stiles arches hard, his body coming completely off the mattress except for where it is balanced on his heels, elbows, shoulders, and head. His chin is tipped back to the furthest extreme as his mouth parts on a shocked gasp, baring the entire length of his throat to Derek’s hungry gaze. 

And his cock. Sweet Jesus. It had been not even half hard when Derek slipped the blindfold over Stiles’ eyes, but now it’s thick, hard, almost violently red. It _looks_ like it aches, and there is already a line of precome dripping onto Stiles’ belly.

Derek has always been undeniably attracted to Stiles, for a variety of reasons to include the physical. But like this? Now? Stiles is beautiful in a way that makes Derek’s chest clench tight and his palms sweat. He wants to touch and taste this perfect offering that’s been laid out before him, but Stiles’ silence has him too off-guard to do anything more than look.

"Stiles," he whispers, and feels a thrill when Stiles’ entire body turns toward him.

Stiles’ lips move in a wordless plea, and it makes Derek’s entire body shake with the effort required not to simply devour him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his hand reaches blindly for Derek.

"I’ve got you," Derek says, sliding his palm against Stiles’ and entwining their fingers. Stiles uses that grip to drag Derek’s hand to his mouth, where his eager tongue is waiting to suck two of Derek’s fingers deep inside.

Derek groans and drops his head forward, tongue sliding over the nipple he’d barely teased minutes before. The rub of his tongue merits a strangled sound from Stiles, whose hips shoot off the bed, his hands scrabbling for purchase in the sheets as his cock empties onto his belly and the side of Derek’s face.

Wide-eyed, Derek sits back, dragging his free hand through the come on his face as Stiles whimpers around his fingers.

They are definitely going to be using the blindfold again.


	16. Confessions of a Teenaged Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I just need a love story.

It was as normal a day as it ever got in Beacon Hills when Stiles decided to do it. He was seventeen, and too young, but he was realistic and he knew his own mind and heart well enough to know that it wasn't going to change, if for no other reason than because he was, is, and always will be stubborn.

It wasn't spur of the moment, either. He woke up that morning, ate breakfast with his dad, spent several minutes getting dressed--in a plaid over shirt with one of his graphic tees under it, because he's still Stiles--and got in his Jeep and drove all the way to Derek's loft. He even walked up all the stairs instead of taking the elevator.

Hell, he even knocked.

He knew in advance that Derek was home, because he'd texted him first. He knew he was there, he knew Derek was awake, he knew exactly how his portion of this conversation was going to go. He didn't rehearse it, really, he just... knew. He knew.

"Hey," he said, when the door slid to the side to show a slightly surprised-looking Derek.

"I thought you had a key?" Derek asked, stepping back to let Stiles in and then peering out into the hallway in a manner that had more to do with common sense and a healthy respect for his own life than it did paranoia.

Honestly: Beacon Hills.

"I do, but I figured it would be easier to train _you_ to knock if I provide an example."

Derek grunted, rolled his eyes, and bumped Stiles' shoulder on his way into the kitchen where a lovely pot of coffee was just finishing dripping. "So what's up? It's not your week for the phone tree."

Stiles leaned against the refrigerator, watching Derek pour two cups of coffee as he considered and discarded several different ways to say it. "So," he started. "We're safe. I mean, for now. Everyone's healthy, everyone's healed from the last horrible nightmare we faced. Hell, the pack even managed an entire two weeks of school with no absences among us. I think that's a record."

"Jesus, Stiles," Derek muttered, shoving a cup of coffee at him and stomping out of the kitchen. "Why don't you just draw a pentagram on the floor and summon Satan? Saying shit like that is just _asking_ for another round of terror."

Stiles winced and nodded, "No, I know, it's not... I'm not, like, bragging or anything. It's more just an observation so that you don't think what I came to say is because of adrenaline or whatever."

Derek slowly sank down onto the sofa in the open, airy living room, staring blankly at Stiles. "You... want out, don't you?"

"Out? What? Out of what?" Stiles asked, brows drawing together in confusion.

"The pack, the... everything that comes with it. The supernatural bullshit." Derek waved his hand with his coffee in it, indicating... well, Beacon Hills.

Stiles snorted and shook his head. "Oh, no, you're not derailing this conversation with angst. Sorry, nope, I've read too much fanfiction to let you insert manpain into my confession."

"Fanfiction? Manpain? What?"

Waving his free hand back and forth, Stiles shook his head. "Internet thing, forget I mentioned it. No, I just mean... hell. I love you, Derek."

When Derek just blinked up at him, shock written in every line of his face--hell, even his _beard_ looked surprised--Stiles shrugged. "That's it. That's what I came to say."

Derek blinked some more, and the silence from him was stretching out rather uncomfortably. Feeling less and less certain of his continued welcome, Stiles edged out of the living room and into the kitchen, downing his coffee in three over-large gulps before putting the mug in the sink and walking toward the door. "I just wanted you to know," he said, pausing with his hand on the pull bar. "I wanted you to know that someone loves you."

When the door rolled to a loud halt with him on the other side of it, Stiles tried to analyze his own feelings and realized he wasn't really feeling anything new. He loved Derek, just as he'd loved him for months, just as he'd continue to love him for the foreseeable future. The only thing that was different now was that Derek knew.

And that was okay. 

Stiles wasn't embarrassed or afraid or even mildly concerned. He skipped down the stairs, feeling lighter. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he grabbed his keys and pulled them out, separating the Jeep's key from his house keys, only to stutter to a stop when he saw Derek leaning against it.

"Uhh." Turning, he looked up the seven stories to the balcony of Derek's loft. "Please tell me you didn't jump down."

Derek snorted. "I know you have a lot of respect for our ability to heal, but no. I took the elevator."

"Oh."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Derek looking increasingly agitated, and like he was about to go looking for some wolfsbane to munch on.

"Look, dude, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Why?" The word burst out of Derek, startling Stiles.

"Uh, because I'm not actually an asshole? I try not to make people uncomfortable unless they deserve it. And you don't."

"No, I mean... why tell me? Why? What do you...?" Derek trailed off, his mouth opening and closing as his eyes darted everywhere.

Stiles' stomach lurched. "No! I don't expect anything. I... fuck. That's not... I just. I thought you should know." Glaring at the ground, he kicked at an uneven spot in the pavement and said, "I just wanted you to know."

"You're seventeen, Stiles." Derek's voice was gentle, like he was breaking bad news to Stiles.

In retaliation, Stiles just rolled his eyes and said, flatly, "I'm fully aware, dude."

"Okay." Derek nodded and pushed away from the Jeep, walking around Stiles, who shrugged and went to unlock his door. "But it's mine, right?"

Stiles paused in the process of climbing into the driver's seat. "What?"

"Your heart."

"Uh, yeah. I mean, that's probably the creepiest way to put it, but then again, it's you. So. Yeah."

"Good." Derek stepped forward and shut Stiles' door for him, hands lingering on the frame of the door. "Birthday still in April?"

Stiles felt warmth spreading out from his chest and couldn't contain his grin. "Yeah."

Derek nodded, like it was nice to have his facts confirmed. Patting the door, he said, "All right. Drive safe."

Stiles laughed and started the Jeep. "You're such a dork."

"You love me anyway."

Putting the Jeep in reverse, Stiles waited for Derek to step away, then backed out of his parking spot. Before he drove away, he leaned his head out the window and said in a conversational tone, "You're damn right I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I wrote this one for me. Because I have like 20 prompts sitting in my tumblr inbox that aren't writing themselves. *feels terribly guilty*


	17. Morning Wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> Kinky prompt? Uhm, sloppy seconds with semi-somnophilia? But only Stiles and Derek involved? Clones? Time travel? Either woke up before the other after several rounds of christening the whole ... . Yes, I'm greedy, sorry.
> 
> (I apologize for the title, but it made me giggle inappropriately, which means it won over all the other potential titles.)

Derek wakes up first. He usually does, because Stiles is a heavy sleeper, but this morning it has more to do with how long and hard he fucked Stiles the previous night than anything else. Well, that’s the story he’s telling himself, because Stiles is, of course, sleeping hard in one of those dear-god-he’s-going-to-break-his-neck positions. His head is shoved _under_ his pillow and his knees are drawn up under him, ensuring that his ass is sticking up in the air.

Like a beacon for Derek’s greedy gaze.

And fuck, but his hole is still wet-looking, still puffy and pink and gaping just the tiniest bit. He looks fucked-out still, and just like that, Derek’s dick is fully hard and throbbing. 

Sitting up slowly so as not to shake the bed and wake Stiles—not yet, not yet—Derek edges around on the bed until he’s kneeling up behind Stiles, licking his lips as he watches a tiny bit of come trickle out of Stiles’ ass. The come carries with it the scent of _Derek_ and of Stiles’ body, and the combination of the two is far too heady. It goes straight to Derek’s hind-brain and before he knows what he’s doing, his tongue is buried in Stiles’ ass, licking and sucking, stretching far enough to make the muscle under Derek’s tongue cramp for a second.

Derek’s making needy noises, he’s definitely rocking the bed, and his fingers are pressed so tight to Stiles’ thighs that he’s sort of vaguely surprised that Stiles isn’t awake and bitching at him yet. But no, Stiles’ breathing is still slow and deep and even, his body still loose in sleep. 

Derek can’t take it anymore, though, he really can’t. Surging up onto his knees, he bats at the bottle of lube on the bedside table for a second until he can coordinate his hands enough to grab it—it’s still a little slippery from where Stiles spilled it the night before—and just puts the opened cap to Stiles’ gaping pucker and squeezes. Lube squirts up inside Stiles, followed immediately by three of Derek’s fingers, and _that’s_ when he hears Stiles begin to stir.

Leaning to the side, he sees that Stiles’ pillow has been knocked to the ground. Stiles is still on the cusp of sleep, not yet awake, but definitely _waking up_ if the way he’s wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips is anything to go by. 

Derek makes quick work of stretching Stiles—it doesn’t require much, honestly—and is sliding into Stiles in one long thrust when Stiles finally blinks his eyes open just to roll them straight backward as a throaty, sleep-husky moan bursts out of his throat. 

”Derek, god, _Derek_ , what?”

But Derek’s lost in his thrusting, letting his actions speak for him, and Stiles doesn’t seem inclined toward more conversation anyway, because he’s just letting out a continuous stream of “ahn, ahnnn, ahhhhnnnn”s with every slap of Derek’s hips against his ass.

There’s a very good possibility that they set a record for least amount of time from start to finish, but neither of them are complaining. Well, at least not after Derek finishes Stiles off with a sloppy handjob after coming in long spurts in his ass.

They fall back against the sheets, groaning and shuffling around and shoving at each other until they’re no longer touching, too sweaty and over-heated to bear being pressed against each other just yet. 

”Jesus, dude,” Stiles says, still sucking in harsh breaths. “I don’t want you to think I’m at all averse to being fucked awake, but… what the hell brought that on?”

”Your ass,” Derek mutters, reaching over and letting his fingers slip between Stiles’ ass cheeks, his dick giving a feeble twitch when he feels his come sliding out of the puffy, gaping hole. “Just… your ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a bunch of my back-log of prompts today, most of them kinky, so.... more to come! (Pun totally intended!)


	18. Close Enough To Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> Could you do a recovering hurt/comfort one with Sterek and pack feels? Stiles was held captive by someone nefarious and when they get him back he's afraid to be touched. This is obviously very hard for werewolves when they want to re-scent their lost packmate (and sleep on him to make sure he's never taken away again) so they have to reintroduce touch very slowly. Stiles' captivity was just physical abuse, no rape please.
> 
> (Somehow, I abandoned the concept of pack feels--eep, sorry--and it's set post-Nogitsune instead of post-captivity because I thought that worked just as well.)

No one understands, at first, why Stiles shies away from them. He’s cold, all the time, and he constantly complains of it, but as soon as one of them moves to help him get warm, or to touch him and take away the pain that he constantly feels, he jerks away, eyes wide and frightened.

He can’t explain it, can’t put it into words, but their hurt looks don’t help. He’s already hurt them, all of them, so much. He hates hurting them more, but he can’t. He can’t stand to feel the touch of anything on his skin. Sometimes even his own clothes are too much. Sometimes he just pours a bath and lays in it for hours because at least in the water, he can pretend it isn’t there. 

Derek, though, seems to understand. He’s the only one not looking at Stiles like he’s broken. He just nods once, and lets it go. When he sits by Stiles, he leaves room. Not so much that it feels like avoidance, but he maintains a careful distance.

And if that distance shrinks over time, Stiles doesn’t notice. It feels good to know that someone understands, even just a little. And maybe Derek really does understand; maybe Derek knows the chill of being the reason so many of the people around you are dead.

It’s two months on and Stiles is sitting on his bed when the window opens and Derek comes through.

"No emergency," Derek says right away, settling Stiles’ heart rate immediately. "Just doing rounds and saw your light on. Thought you could use some company."

Stiles shrugs and motions toward the other side of his bed, going back to the open history text in his lap. “Not gonna be much for conversation. I need to study for Ms Miller’s test.”

"Oh?" The bed shakes a little as Derek gets settled, then he leans over, not touching, just peering at the text on the page. "Modern World History? World War II?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, pointing to a spot on the page. "I’m good with this, generally, but I get the dates confused, so that’s really what I’m studying. Not so much the who or the how, but the when, you know?"

Derek makes a grunting noise and settles back, tugging the book closer. For several long minutes, they read silently before Derek puts his hand over the page and asks a question about the Nazi invasion of Poland. Before he knows it, the book has been completely taken over by Derek, who quizzes Stiles about every date in the chapter, skipping around the sections and picking and choosing at random so that no two dates are in order.

Stiles leans back against the headboard, laughing at something Derek says, and realizes that at some point, they’d ended up sitting shoulder to shoulder, touching all along the sides of their bodies.

And for the first time in months, Stiles doesn’t feel cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeeeeeels.


	19. Filled to the Brim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> I may be a little late with this kink thingie but should you ever feel the urge to write a Sterek fic with anal beads, I'll be right behind you. I totally love everything you write.

He’s so full. He can barely breathe for how full he is, and then Derek smiles at him, and it’s the dirtiest goddamn smile ever. 

"Ready for another?" he asks, and Stiles can’t even respond other than to gurgle because how can there be another? 

He knows his eyes are shock-wide, and his cheeks are splotchy red and his lips are wet and shiny because he can see his reflection in Derek’s eyes. It’s like his ass’ hypersensitivity has extended to the rest of his body because he can feel every tiny change in the air pressure on his skin, he can hear every sound in a ten-mile radius (or so it seems), and he can smell…everything. Them, their scents, the staleness of his sheets that he hasn’t washed in over a week. He can smell the lotion in its pump bottle on his bedside table. Everything.

But Derek takes that gurgle of sound as approval or consent or whatever, because he pushes another bead into Stiles’ ass, where it grinds against the others already crowded in there and they all move in tandem in him, pushing pushing pushing, rubbing… over everything. Stiles lets out a muffled scream and his back bows at the sensations forced upon him.

But that movement, arching his back? It makes everything shift inside him, and he can’t take it anymore. With a choked breath, with tears streaming from his eyes at the over-stimulation of his prostate, he comes. And in coming, his ass clenches down on the beads and he digs his fingers into Derek’s arm.

And Derek, that fucker, just smiles again as he slowly, carefully, pulls the beads free. Every _pop_ of a bead out of his hole makes him clench again, and he’s still coming, but it’s dry and … god. It’s so good it’s painful. Electric shocks of pleasure zapping him over and over until he’s empty. 

That’s when he cries in earnest because now he’s _empty_ and overstimulated and he can’t even tell which direction is up and which is down anymore. He’s keening and sobbing and clutching at Derek, who pulls Stiles into his lap and onto his dick, filling him back up, soothing him with words and hands and impossible heat.

It’s… 

Everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. I also wrote a Chris/Isaac daddy!kink thing, but that'll go on the Non-Sterek Tumblr Fics thing if you're interested.


	20. Ten Second Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no reason for this other than... I wanted to write it. Fluff and feels.

Stiles stared up at the night sky, listening as the rest of the pack shuffled off to their vehicles or just ran off into the night like a bunch of goddamn wannabe Batmans. He'd get up in a minute and drive home, but for now, he wanted a second to just breathe.

A nudge against his foot made him grunt and drag his foot back.

"You still alive?" 

Stiles lifted his head, scowling at Derek. "Obviously."

Instead of leaving him alone, Derek flopped over onto his back beside Stiles, sighing heavily. There was enough disgruntlement in that sound to make Stiles roll his eyes.

"You don't have to stay here with me, dude."

"If I don't make sure you get home safe, in two hours I'll be getting woken up _again_ to come rescue your ass."

"Oh, pfft, whatever. When it comes to rescuing, I'm pretty sure I'm always the one rescuing _your_ dumb ass."

Derek did some kind of roll/slide maneuver that ended with him bumping Stiles' shoulder. "Shut up."

Because he wanted to--and only because he wanted to--Stiles subsided and went back to staring up at the scattered stars. Much as he'd deny it, it was kinda nice to have someone beside him, watching out for him. _Caring_ that he made it out of the Preserve in one piece, especially after it'd taken them the better part of the night to defeat the chupacabra nest that had been munching on random joggers.

"Seriously, why do people still jog in this town?"

Derek grunted. "Because people are fucking morons."

Unable to argue with that assessment, Stiles stared at the stars some more, then, overcome by a moment of self-reflection, said, "Do you ever feel like you're just a side-character in the movie of someone else's life?"

"Why can't it be a book?"

"Oh my god, whatever; movie, book, it doesn't matter! The point is... what if I'm not the main character of my story?" Stiles' hands fluttered in the air above them before Derek caught one that swung out over his line of sight and tugged it back to the ground. Stiles couldn't help but note that his hand stayed firmly wrapped around Stiles' wrist.

"So who's the main character then?"

"...well, Scott, obviously."

A brief silence fell before Derek said, "Nah."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I mean, look at it logically. Both of his parents are still living."

Stiles felt his lips twitch, then felt bad for finding humor in that. "Yeah, but he's the one who got bit and then turned into a True Alpha."

"Eh. He's a complete stock character. He's the example, the moral white knight."

"So who's the main character then?" Stiles turned his head, looking at Derek instead of the stars.

"You," Derek said, like it was obvious. He held up his hand-- _not_ the one still holding onto Stiles' wrist--and lowered his fingers as he ticked off points. "You lost your mother at a young age and your father is constantly in jeopardy due to the dangerous secrets the two of you keep. You've been presented with the opportunity to become a werewolf, but so far you've resisted, which leaves the lingering question in the reader's mind of 'will he or won't he?' You're fallible in ways that Scott isn't, which makes you _interesting_ to the reader. But you're always in the middle of the action, so the reader knows what's happening. Even when it's to your personal benefit to stay home, wrapped up safe in your bed, you're out here, with the pack. But it's not a prerogative. It's a choice. A very deliberate choice. And, even when the odds are against it, you still manage to come up with the winning plan and save the day. Which makes you the hero. A flawed hero, but definitely the hero."

Stiles stared at Derek, speechless. That was... that was fucking romantic as shit, from Stiles' point of view. "A hero needs a love interest," he said, his voice crackling just a bit. 

Derek's fingers spasmed on his wrist, but didn't let go. "Well, looks like your ten-year-plan to win Lydia is going to work out for you, then."

"I've got a better plan."

Derek finally stopped looking up and turned his head to stare back at Stiles. "Yeah?" he asked, and Stiles cursed his puny human eye-sight because he really wanted to be able to see the expression on Derek's face, but it was cast completely in shadow.

"It's a ten second plan," Stiles said, and rolled over, right on top of Derek, who went perfectly still beneath him. Stiles tugged his hand free of Derek's grip and cupped Derek's stubbly cheeks between his palms. "Think it's gonna work?"

"It has to." Derek's voice was soft, hesitant, but Stiles felt his hand curve around his hip, holding him in place. "You're the hero."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This is in no way meant to be anti-Scott or Scott hate. But the rules of herodom exist for a reason. You can't be a hero and still have both of your parents. Just ask Peter Parker, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark...etc.


	21. The Fox and The Hound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > Runemarks asked for: Could you do a Sterek where they all turn into full wolves when they shift? Stiles has been bitten or maybe he’s a werefox. I just want fully wolfed out Derek sitting on Stiles so he can bathe/groom him when he inevitably gets into trouble and covered in mud.

It’s three months post-Nogitsune when it happens. Stiles feels more unsettled than usual. It’s like his ADD kicked into overdrive all at once, and there’s an itching under his skin that just won’t go away. He can’t sit still, but moving around doesn’t help. He’s going out of his goddamn mind. 

For lack of anything better to do, he goes to Scott’s house, only to realize that it’s the full moon and Scott will be in the Preserve with the rest of the wolfy population of Beacon Hills, turning into the hairier version of himself and chasing parked cars and fetching sticks. Or, you know, whatever it is they do on full moons. (Not that Stiles knows because Derek has put a moratorium on human involvement in pack runs during the full moon. Something about personal safety blah blah werewolf blah blah.) 

But Stiles finds his feet taking him toward the Preserve anyway, and he just mentally shrugs and decides he’ll face whatever consequences there are when Derek inevitably throws him against a tree to bark in his face. Or whatever. It’s not until he’s flat-out running toward the dark of the woods that Stiles realizes he left his Jeep at Scott’s house. 

And even that thought isn’t enough to make him stop running. The running seems to help with the swirling hyperactivity that’s gotten hold of his body, so he just goes with it. His feet are flying over the forest floor, and there’s a part of him that feels… almost giddy. It’s like suddenly he can see and hear and smell things that he’s never been able to before. 

Then, without warning, he’s falling to his hands and knees, but he’s still running somehow and… and he blinks and the world is flatter, more gradients of gray than normal and everything seems much _bigger_ than it should. 

What. The. Hell? 

Stiles stumbles to a stop and looks around, trying to get his bearings. But as he looks around, he recognizes where he is and… why is that tree stump so much higher off the ground than it was last time he was here? 

A feeling of foreboding fills Stiles and very slowly, very carefully, he looks down. His hands… aren’t hands anymore. His feet aren’t feet, and he’s pretty sure he never had a tail before five minutes ago. 

No, seriously. What. The. Hell? 

Panic bursts through Stiles then, and he’s taking off through the Preserve again, faster than before, yipping frantically. He wants to scream for Scott, for Isaac, for anyone. Fuck, he’d be okay with _Peter_ at this point, but really, he just wants someone, anyone, to come along and wake him up. Because this is a dream. 

It has to be a dream. Right? 

Crashing through the underbrush, Stiles tumbles down a sharp incline and, with a splash, finds himself neck-deep in muddy water and in this form, he’s not entirely sure how to swim his way out of it. His feet are stretching, toes digging for purchase in the shifting, sucking muddy floor of the creek bottom. 

His yips get louder, even more panicked-sounding, and suddenly there comes the sound of crashing bodies. 

_Scott!_ he tries to call out, but it comes out as another high-pitched yipping sound. 

Something—or someone—splashes into the creek with him, and before he knows it, there are teeth sinking into the back of his neck, and he’s being dragged to the edge of the creek, then dragged up onto the bank and over the lip of the bank onto dry leaves. Although, really, _dragged_ is a bit of an overstatement, because in actuality, he’s caught, suspended, between those teeth, his entire body unable to do more than writhe in the grip. When he does that, though, the teeth dig in and it _hurts_ , so he stops. 

When they reach the dry leaves, the teeth unclamp from his neck and he falls into a graceless, wet heap on the ground. Looking up, he sees… well, fuck everything. 

It’s Derek. Of course it is. In full, 100% wolf form. Fucking born werewolves and their huge, doggy hides. 

Stiles stands on four shaky legs and is about to skirt around Derek—he has no idea if Derek knows it’s him or not, and he doesn’t exactly want to end up as a wolfy snack on a full moon, thanks. But Derek has other ideas. 

Woofing at Stiles menacingly, Derek lowers his head and clamps his teeth onto Stiles’ tail, dragging him back to the leaves and then just sort of _stepping_ on him until Stiles is squished down into the leaves. 

Stiles yips again, trying to communicate his identity to Derek. For some reason—probably the fact that Derek obviously has enough command of himself in full-shift form to roll his eyes in exasperation—Derek seems to know it’s him. But the huge, heavy paw doesn’t let up, and then Derek lays down next to him, keeping him trapped. 

A long, hot tongue starts running over Stiles’ fur, cleaning off the muck and mud of the creek. Unable to do anything else, Stiles just lays there and suffers through the humiliation of it all. 

He feels the adrenaline crash coming and lays his head down on his front paws, letting the feeling of Derek’s tongue rubbing over his drying fur lull him into sleep. 

He can only hope to be returned to normal when he wakes up. If for no other reason than because he wants to see his dad’s face when he explains to him why they need another piece on the chess board. 


	22. Don't Break Out the Wedding Invitations Yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > Anonymous asked:
>> 
>> uuuhhh fic prompt: derek and stiles' son is secretly dating scott and allison's son and they are just finding out :)

"But… Why wouldn’t you TELL us?" Stiles asked, waving his hands around so dramatically that he actually popped the loop open on his gun belt. 

Derek sighed and reached over, pulling Stiles' service revolver out and going to put it away in the safe. Otherwise, god knows the idiot would end up shooting himself in the foot, and no way was Derek living through that hell again. (Isaac had found it hilarious to gift Stiles with a bell he could ring whenever he wanted something. Derek still can’t hear so much as the tinkle of wind-chimes without half wolfing out.)

From the study, he could hear Boyd sigh and say, “Because, Dad. It’s not… a big thing. We just…”

"What?" Derek asked softly as he re-entered the room, keeping his voice even and non-judgmental. _Someone_ had to be the adult around here and it didn’t look like Stiles was ready to fill that role. Derek sent a fond look at his husband, who was blotchy-faced with excitement.

"It’s just that we want to take this slow," Boyd said with a shrug, looking uncomfortable. "I mean, we’re just 15. Neither of us wants anything serious, you know?"

"That’s good!" Stiles exclaimed, nearly dancing in place. "Taking it slow is awesome! That’s exactly how your father and I started out!"

But as much as Stiles had obviously meant that to be reassuring, Boyd simply became more distressed. “Daaad, god! This is exactly why we didn’t say anything! I knew you would do this!”

"What?" Stiles asked, hurt blending into the confusion in his tone. When he looked to Derek for help, he could only shrug. The mix of emotions coming through Boyd’s scent wasn’t helping at all.

"I knew the minute you found out all you’d be able to think about was happily ever after for us. I didn’t want to tell you and end up having you and Uncle Scott planning my damn wedding!"

"Language," Derek warned, even though he was fighting off a smile. 

"I like John, I really do, but Christ, I’m just fifteen!! All I really want to do is fool around some… _oh my god not like that, Dad_.” Boyd ran his palm over his buzz cut, calming himself down. It brought back some uncomfortably sweet memories of Stiles from twenty years ago. “Look, I don’t want us to like, hurt each other or whatever. Or be that couple that breaks up every other week. But right now, we’re not even really a couple. We’re just…interested. That’s it. Please don’t make this a big deal, Dad.”

"So I should cancel the wedding invitations?" Stiles asked, his mouth twisting up into a weird little smirky smile.

"Jeeeez, Dad!" Boyd let out a disgusted huff, threw his hands in the air and stomped all the way upstairs to his bedroom before slamming his door shut.

Derek sighed and slipped an arm around Stiles’ waist, tugging him close enough to drop a sucking kiss on the back of his neck. “Is now a good time to remind you of the baby books?”

Stiles went stiff and frozen in Derek’s embrace before the back of his neck turned red. “They were a joke,” he whined. “And, honestly, they were _Allison's_ idea.”

"Still," Derek murmured, keeping his voice down so their son wouldn’t hear. "You did make wedding invitations as soon as she found out she was pregnant."

Stiles turned around, fitting their bodies together as he sighed. “Wouldn’t it be—?”

"Shhh," Derek said. "They’re fifteen. Leave them be."

But even as he said that, he smiled. Because yeah, it really would be sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES THEY NAMED HIM BOYD, NOT VERNON. And Scott talked Allison into naming their son after Stiles' dad - with Stiles' blessing - because he can't help thumbing his nose at Rafael, just a bit. (Their oldest daughter is Christine, so Chris doesn't feel slighted, don't worry.)


	23. Headcanons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > Anonymous asked:
>> 
>> I love your head canons. Who is surprisingly vanilla sometimes: Derek or Stiles? Who proposed first? Who is actually the most romantic? How do they actually got together? Do they sleep naked?

**Who is ~~surprisingly vanilla~~ kinky sometimes: Derek or Stiles?**

Not Derek. Derek is quite content just having slow, amazing sex. Or fast, amazing sex. Basically, Derek is happy as a clam having sex with someone who isn’t determined to kill the entire town or what’s remaining of his family. Plus, when Derek hears about kink? It brings his mind to bad places. Places like the five inch stiletto heels Kate would wear and then make him lick before he was allowed to touch her, all the while she smirked down at him. Yeah. Not Derek.

Also, not Stiles. Not that Stiles doesn’t occasionally have the odd thought about kink — several times per day — but from the second he touches any part of Derek, all thought flies out the window and all he can focus on is getting his hands on _more_ of Derek, now, faster, please. 

**Who proposed first?**

Oh wow, you had to bring up _that_ time? Oh man, that was bad. It was the worst time in their entire relationship.

See, one night while Derek was cooking dinner, Stiles leaned in, gave a giant sniff of the herb-encrusted, pan-seared tilapia, and sighed, “Marry me.” As often happens, they both went completely still, everything — including time — seemed to slow down, and then Stiles got completely serious, went down on one knee, and with a shaky smile, grabbed Derek’s hand and said, “No, really. Marry me. Please?”

Derek stared down at him with a furious look on his face — his eyebrows hadn’t done _that_ in almost a _year_ — and then, without another word, turned and stomped through the house, out the front door, and drove away. Stiles was _devastated._ He spent the next two days at Scott and Allison’s, not even crying, just… wandering around in a daze, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

Three days after the disastrous proposal, odd things started happening. Balloons and roses and tiny children serenading him in the park. It was like a Disney musical threw up on him. And at the end of it was a half-grumpy, half-contrite Derek, who was dressed in a tux, holding a single rose, around which was a pair of wedding rings tied together with a red string (they’d had a few very energetic conversations about the red string of fate). 

It turned out that Derek had been planning this huge, extravagant gesture for _months_ , which Stiles’ impromptu, spur-of-the-goddamn-moment proposal had almost ruined. Stiles nearly didn’t say yes. The tears he hadn’t shed in three days almost made an appearance as he yelled at Derek for being a goddamn emotionally constipated _moron_ right there in the middle of the town square, while they were surrounded by tiny toddlers (wearing tiaras, what the fuck?), and with the horse attached to a horse-drawn carriage just casually pooping in the road. When Derek finally took Stiles into his arms, whispering how sorry he was for reacting badly, Stiles sniffed, grabbed the rings, and said, “Just remember who asked first, asshole.”

**Who is actually the most romantic?**

With the exception of the fantastically horrible proposal fiasco (and maybe because of it), Stiles is the one for the big, romantic gestures. I mean, this is the same kid that bought over $600 worth of birthday presents for a girl because he couldn’t choose just one. With Derek, who does actually return his feelings and with whom he gets to have all the sex, the gestures are even more extravagant. Derek had to set a price limit on all gifts to keep Stiles from going into massive debt.

But for the little moments? The kisses on the back of the neck, the rubbing of the thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand while they’re watching Netflix, the softly whispered words of love? Yeah, that’s Derek. 

**How do they actually get together?**

Well, it’s not how you’d think. It wasn’t a fireworks moment, or right after the latest monster of the week. It was in the middle of a quiet moment, when Stiles looked up from a book he was researching in at the same time that Derek looked up from a book he was reading _for pleasure, Stiles, because sometimes people actually_ like _to read_. And in that moment, something happened. Maybe they saw each other for the first time. Or maybe it was something more. But it was like the air was sucked from the room, and both of them felt it. 

The rest of the pack likes to think they knew it was coming, but really, they’d given up after two years of exquisite subtext between the two. They all really thought Derek and Stiles were just going to deny it forever. It had nothing to do with denial. It was about being ready. And it took about three years for Derek to shed the guilt of the past and just that long for Stiles to understand that he was someone that another person could look at the way Derek looks at him.

**Do they sleep naked?**

When they first got together, Stiles made a list of rules. That was the first one. Sleep Naked. It took about three days for them to realize their lives were not compatible with naked sleeping. So now, after they’ve had their sexy fun times, if they’re still capable of moving, they at least slip their boxers back on.

_Yeah, yeah, I screwed up the first question._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ask me all your headcanon questions!](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com/ask)


	24. Coffee Shop AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For hecallsmediamonds on tumblr.

The strap of Stiles' satchel gets caught on the door handle as he's walking into the campus coffee shop, pulling him up short and nearly strangling him in the process. Once he gets untangled and straightens himself out again, he turns to the counter and stumbles to an even more dramatic halt.

His mind is wiped clean, his brain buzzing a loud, staticky white noise through which only one thought emerges: _That's not Marge._

If there is one constant in the universe, it's that the University Cafe is run by crotchety old ladies who serve 3am truck stop coffee 24 hours a day. Those are the good coffee days. When the ladies are feeling particularly hard-done-by, when they feel like their tip jars are unnecessarily light, they switch to instant coffee. And Stiles swears up and down it's decaf half the time. Everyone from first year freshmen to the Dean of Business knows this.

Their tip jars are _always_ full now.

So when Stiles looks up and sees… _that_ , he's understandably shocked. And a little aroused. Okay, a lot aroused. The man behind the counter with his stained apron pulled taut over a chest that's making Stiles' mouth water has the crotchety part down pat, but with the stubble and the abs that are _visibly rippling_ through the stiff cloth of the apron and the polo shirt beneath it, and the light, piercing eyes, and… Stiles sucks in a breath and scowls right back at the brooding visual feast before him.

Because yeah, he's shocked and aroused, but mostly he's irritated. Because if Marge isn't here to half-ass her way through getting him a cup of burnt coffee while silently judging every single one of his life choices, Stiles doesn't actually know how he's going to get everything done that he _has_ to do.

It's midterms week.

When he feels himself start to hyperventilate, when his eyes begin to burn with unshed tears, he shakes himself, straightens to his full height, and stomps toward the counter. "Hey there, Marge," he mutters through clenching teeth. Full steam ahead. "One coffee, two sugars."

The man straightens from the counter, uncrosses arms that would make Chris Hemsworth weep, and lifts a sassy eyebrow. 

Which, no. Fuck that. Marge didn't sassy eyebrow him, this dude shouldn't either. 

"My name isn't--"

" _Just do it, Marge_ ," Stiles whines, and he's pretty sure he sounds like a man at the end of his rope. Which is a funny coincidence, because oh hey look! He's a fucking man at the end of his rope. 

Midterms!

But the guy leans back, angling his body away from Stiles a little, like he expects Stiles to pull out a loaded weapon from his bag--hah, right, like any handgun could beat his art history textbook* for sheer stopping power. Not-Marge slowly edges toward the coffee machines and jerks a large styrofoam cup out of the dispenser before pushing a few buttons and twiddling some dials. 

Stiles' lifeblood begins to drip into the cup, and he can't help a full-body sigh of relief. 

Not-Marge dumps two sugars into the cup, gives it a perfunctory stir when it finishes dripping, and slides it across the counter to Stiles, like it's going to explode. Stiles throws money on the counter, snatching the coffee up like it's his precious child that narrowly missed being abducted, and actually croons to the bitter liquid inside as he turns and shoulders his way back out into the quad.

At least Not-Marge makes the same stomach-dissolving brew that Marge had.

\--

The next time Stiles drags himself into the coffee shop, he's honestly forgotten all about the incident during midterms. But as soon as he sees the male model standing behind the counter, straining his apron strings, the entire incident floods back into Stiles brain, replaying itself in 1080p HD surround sound. In, like, 4D. IMAX quality humiliation, right there.

But Stiles has got one thing going for him when it comes to humiliating himself. He is the dictionary definition of Average White Guy. Medium brown hair, brown eyes, no distinguishing marks, somewhere in the vicinity of six feet tall. He has, in the past, stood in his dad's lineups at the station. He's been fingered as a purse snatcher, grocery store robber, a string of petty thefts from one of the affluent neighborhoods back home, and once he was even mistakenly identified as an actual murderer.

So he's pretty sure that tall dark and scruffy won't even remember him because _he's so incredibly forgetful_.

Confidence boosted by this weird little pep talk, Stiles approaches the counter and opens his mouth to give his order when the guy points at the name badge pinned neatly to his apron. Stiles stops, gapes a little, and flushes all over when he sees that it reads, "NOT Marge."

"You," he says, then lets out a tiny squeak. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry. That was, like--"

"Midterms," Not Marge says, lips twitching under his scruff. 

Stiles drops his head to the top of the counter and then does it again two more times for good measure. The last time, though, instead of whacking his head against the aged linoleum, his forehead comes to rest against a broad palm. He flinches back, eyes widening before slowly raising back up to lock with Not Marge's. "Okay, um…"

"Coffee, two sugars?" Not Marge says, turning to start the drip without even waiting for Stiles to respond.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes, feeling his dick twitch in his pants. 

Look, it's a legitimate reaction, okay? Because yeah, dude is without a doubt, hot enough to stop traffic, but _he has memorized Stiles' coffee order_ and that? That is worth more than all the carefully groomed scruff on the west coast. 

Stiles is officially in love.

Not Marge comes back, sliding Stiles' coffee toward him in its styrofoam prison. Stiles picks up the coffee, goes to take a sip, and is distracted by black sharpie writing on the side of the cup. 

_Derek. 867-5309._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Marilyn Stokstad's Art History textbook(s) have been called the heaviest in America by no less than the New York Times…
> 
> \--
> 
> Aaaand, I'm on [tumblr](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com).


	25. Derek Sneezed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this several days ago to my tumblr, but I'm still getting feels from the thought of Derek making an achoo, so here. Have puppy!Derek.

If he hadn't been looking directly at Derek when it happened, Stiles is sure he would have missed it. But... he _was_ looking, because, let's be real, he's _always_ looking at Derek these days.

Derek is just... 

He's lost a lot of the anger he was carrying around for so long, and he smiles now and he's just beautiful. When he smiles. Because...

Okay, forget that. That's not important. 

What _is_ important is that he document what happened that day. That _instant_. 

They were all sitting around the loft, and the windows were open because it had rained for _days_ and everyone wanted the fresh air when the sun finally came back out. And Scott was talking, so everyone else was paying attention to him. Everyone but Stiles because of reasons already covered.

Derek himself was looking at Scott, expression open and interested as he leaned back against the beam in the middle of the loft's open floor plan. But then, it happened.

He blinked rapidly, nose twitching, and a look that was half bewildered, half angry flashed across his face before the whole thing scrunched up and he let out a loud sneeze. 

But that's not the best part. The best part is how _shocked_ and _offended_ Derek looked in the two seconds before he was able to school his features into something more like his standard expression.

However... however. Stiles saw it. Saw that moment of vulnerability. And some part of him just rolled over and _died_ when he saw it. Because it was like watching baby kittens sneezing for the first time. Or little fluffy puppies. Panda bears. 

Stiles melted, sliding down in his seat and grabbing a pillow to muffle his little squee of delight.

Derek sneezing needed its own meme. 


End file.
